


(You can’t start a fire without a spark.)

by softly (alexenglish)



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: BDSM, Body Worship, Canon Compliant, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink, Sub Zayn, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/softly
Summary: I hate trying to put my desire into words when my body knows exactly what to say.  Come home.





	(You can’t start a fire without a spark.)

**Author's Note:**

> [a softer world project](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/asofterworld)

__

 

_Remember when we used to --_

It’s too difficult to talk about now, words pressed up to the back of Zayn’s teeth. It’s automatic to _want_ , but knowing how to ask is an entirely different story. It’s been ages, Zayn’s still getting _his_ Louis back. He doesn’t want to push it. He’s terrified of pushing it.

But it’s all muscle memory. It’s all still there, that part of him that’s so ready and willing to follow Louis’ direction. That little corner of his brain desperate to please Louis.

Not desperate in a messy way. But pleasing Louis used to mean aching knees and an aching jaw and a head full of praise instead of the constant buzz of thoughts in his head and the constant buzz of anxiety under his skin, and he was always desperate for that feeling. The calm that came from Louis’ hands on him. Guiding him. Holding him up.

The closer they get to finding each other again, the more Zayn wants that back. Wants Louis in _all_ the ways he was allowed to have him before. The friendship, his partner in crime -- yes more than anything -- but also, the soft of Louis’ voice colored with pride when Zayn was good, the way it was so much more than sex like that, how it was something transcendent.

Zayn wants it so badly and he doesn’t know how to ask, but he knows, in the end, he always has to ask for what he wants.

 

 

Zayn reckons life’s always separated into befores and afters. Before he left, things with Louis were like _this_. After he left they were like _this_ , and now they’re like _this_ , and it’ll probably never be the same _this_ as it was before.

And then Louis ruins that by kissing him.

Like old times, like it’s before.

They pass each other in the kitchen as Louis goes to grab beers, and Zayn knows Louis so well he sees it on Louis’ face before it even happens. It’s not at all a surprise when Louis’ hand fits over Zayn’s hipbone, and he pushes into Zayn’s space and pushes Zayn back so his shoulders press into the cabinets.

It’s not at all a surprise when Louis’ eyes flick down to Zayn’s mouth and he wets his lips with his tongue before he asks, “Is this alright?” like it hasn’t been over three years since they’ve done this.

It’s not a surprise that Zayn lets himself say yes, that he lets himself have it. God knows he’s wanted it, and now Louis is offering it. He doesn’t have to think about it, doesn’t want to think about it, he just _wants_.

Louis kisses Zayn, warm lips and soft tongue and sweetly sighing, in the kitchen of Zayn’s LA house with a living room full of their collective friends, and it feels like coming home.

 

 

“Remember when we used to --” Zayn cuts himself off, heart thumping hard in his chest. There’s so many things he could end that sentence with. There are so many things they _used_ _to_ do.

_Remember when we used to nick pillows from hotel rooms when the ones on the bus got old. Remember when we tipped the golf cart at Murrayfield Stadium and you had a bruise on your back for ages. Remember when we used to get stoned and sit on top of the bus so we could look at the stars and talk about being home._

_Remember that time you fucked my throat so hard I had to be on vocal rest the next day. Remember the first time you collared me and I stopped being able to think about anything except for your mouth on me and your fingers inside me and --_

Louis looks at Zayn, waiting.

It’s just the two of them in the house today, going through the motions of morning tea before they pop out for a smoke. Louis’s freshly showered, hair fuzzy and air dried, in a pair of Zayn’s joggers and Zayn’s shirt. Warm satisfaction curls up in Zayn’s gut at the sight of him.

It’s been awhile since that first kiss. There’s been loads of snogging with a polite amount of space between their hips, but there’s also been grinding together on the sofa, hands up each other’s shirts and in each other’s hair.

They’ve made each other come exactly once, doing just that, rubbing against each other and kissing for so long Zayn didn’t realize it was happening until he was desperately close to the edge, cock jerking as he came. So did Louis, apparently. They fell back giggling at the fact that they didn’t even manage to get their dicks out.

But it’s been slow, relearning each other. Neither of them really knowing what to do, how far to go. Zayn had figured the kissing would lead to shagging, but besides the very teenager moment they had coming in their pants, nothing else has happened.

But god, Zayn _wants_.

“Remember the time we did a scene before that show in Chicago,” Zayn says, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. Louis’ eyes widen, huge and confused. “It was too quick, and you dropped so hard I thought you were gunna make us like, stop all of it.”

“Zayn.” Louis’ face does something complicated, but he doesn’t say anything aside from Zayn’s name, soft and unsure.

“You always dropped harder than I did,” Zayn goes on, softly so as not to spook Louis. He’s scared of this, he realizes. Terrified. “It was weird, right? Like usually doms don’t, but you did. I think that’s what made me see how much you really needed it. Which helped. Like, knowing I wasn’t the only one who needed it that much.”

Before that concert in Chicago it was difficult for Zayn to even understand what Louis got out of it. Zayn felt like all he was doing was _taking_. He was the one who brought it up. He was the reason they started. He was the one who got out of his head when they did it. Louis was facilitating that, and that was it.

But then Zayn bounced off the stage during the first break of that show, and Louis threw himself at Zayn like a fucking rugby player. He kissed Zayn right in the hallway, hands on Zayn’s face, edgy and sharp and desperate.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Louis kept saying, clinging to him. Zayn got them into an empty dressing room and held onto Louis while he shook. Their break wasn’t long enough for whatever was happening.

It felt like ages before Louis chilled out, hands under Zayn’s shirt, stroking over his skin. They stayed pressed together as long as they possibly could until they got called and had to go. Louis held onto Zayn’s hand tightly until they got back on stage.

And later they talked about being more careful, and it made Zayn’s stomach squirm, thinking about Louis having to go on through the concert like that when all he really needed was Zayn next to him, taking care of him.

That’s when Zayn got it. It went both ways, different for the both of them but necessary all the same. And it still feels necessary for Zayn. He wants to know if it’s the same with Louis. If, in this, they’re still the same.

Louis is waiting for him to ask. Louis always waits for him to ask. Nothing happens unless Zayn asks. He’s still so terrified of asking. He needs a smoke.

“I’m talkin’ shit, I just --” Zayn ducks his head and shrugs the rest of the sentence away.

“Zayn,” Louis says. Gentle, coaxing. The kind of tone that’s all warm down Zayn’s spine. It makes him flush harder. Louis clears his throat and Zayn wonders if Louis hadn’t meant to say his name like that. “Should we talk about it?”

“Maybe,” Zayn admits. It was always too hard to lie to Louis, even before their dynamic shift, but he doesn’t want to anyway. He wants this. “If you want to.”

“Do you still want… that?” Louis asks. The tips of his fingers hit the countertop a couple of times. A hint of nerves behind an impassive face. Zayn nods. Louis’ teeth bite into his bottom lip. “Have you, uh, since?”

Since the last time, god.

It’s been so long. Zayn can’t even think of the day, or where they were. It wasn’t even a goodbye, they didn’t know it was going to be their last time. Louis tied Zayn to the hotel bed and rode him until Zayn was begging to come. Zayn thinks about it a lot, honestly -- the tight little circles Louis made with his hips, the rise and fall of his skinny chest as he breathed hard, the smile that was all for Zayn, the sweet face Louis made when he came.

“I haven’t,” Zayn admits, blinking. He hadn’t even thought about it.

“But you want to?” Louis asks.

“With you,” Zayn says, a little too eagerly. “If you want to.”

Louis laughs lightly and Zayn feels his lungs hitch when Louis says, “‘Course I do, love. Always do.”

 

 

_Jewelry off. Strip down. On your knees._

It’s been so long, the position feels strange. Kneeling at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his back, spine softly curving. The skin around his neck tingles, waiting for the weight of a collar, a hand, anything to steady him.

He keeps his eyes on the floor, tries to find his place in the sensations as he waits. The ache in his shoulders, in his hips, in his knees. The tops of his feet against the carpet. The cold room, the tightness in his nipples and balls, the way he’s already growing hard from the anticipation.

He waits, counting every breath, trying not to be nervous. It’s just Louis. It’s just Louis. It’s just _Louis_.

Could be a century between the last time they’ve done this and now, but Louis is always the same. Louis is steady, anchoring.

They know how to do this. They got a lot of stuff wrong over the years -- petty fights and arguments, a whole year gone without talking to each other -- but this is something they always got right.

It takes a few minutes of Zayn’s heart pounding in his ears, but eventually the door opens and shuts. Eventually Zayn hears Louis walking towards him, eyes raising enough to see Louis’ barefeet on the carpet.

Zayn can’t help but bite back on a grin. It’s Louis’ thing. Zayn takes his jewelry off, Louis has his feet bare. Even fucking fully clothed. They came back from some fancy do once, forever and a year ago, Louis told Zayn to strip down as he slipped his shoes and socks off. He kept his suit on while he fucked Zayn up against the door -- hand on the back of Zayn’s neck, panting against the sweat-slick skin between Zayn’s shoulder blades as he wanked Zayn off and made him come all over the floor.

“Look at you, then,” Louis says, soft like isn’t meant for Zayn even though it is. A little thrill works its way up Zayn’s spine. There’s this tone Louis gets when they do this -- firm, but gentle -- the cadence of it can put Zayn under quicker than a collar can.

He’s missed hearing it.

“Eyes up,” Louis says, a bit louder. Zayn lifts his head and makes eye contact, stomach fluttering. He seems larger when Zayn’s like this, on his knees and partially under, fuzzy around the edges. The look on Louis’ face is exquisite, glowing and gentle and open.

“Look at you,” Louis says again, awe creeping into his voice. There are fingers tracing Zayn’s face and it takes everything in him to keep his eyes on Louis instead of nuzzling into Louis’ hand. “Always so beautiful.”

Zayn holds still as Louis cards his hands through Zayn’s hair, drags the backs of his knuckles down Zayn’s face. His fingertips snag on Zayn’s lips, the softest of touches, and Zayn’s cock jumps, mouth readily filling with saliva. But Louis moves on, traces the outline of Zayn’s jaw, rubs his earlobe softly, trails down the side of his neck.

He holds still as Louis sinks to his knees, still touching Zayn. He settles his hand at the base of Zayn’s neck, rubs his thumb over Zayn’s collar. It’s a solid hold, grounding. The tingling in Zayn’s neck lessens, but his head swims more. It’s lovely.

“What would you like, love?” Louis asks.

Zayn has to fight to find his voice, blinking away some of the haze so he can think about it. He has no idea. He wants whatever Louis wants. He wants to feel good. He already feels so good.

“You,” Zayn says, feeling apologetic. Louis chuckles softly, keeping the one hand on Zayn’s neck like he knows Zayn needs it. The other slides down Zayn’s body, hand squeezing his waist firmly. It’s steadying.

“Alright.”

Louis keeps touching him, slow and deliberate, like he’s mapping out Zayn’s body again, trying to find the newness in it. Zayn lets himself melt. Keeps his eyes on Louis obediently, but lets the rest of himself slide away until he’s sensations, a body to be touched. Louis’ body to be touched.

Louis starts talking in that silky tone of his, and Zayn’s heart beats harder with every word.

“Never understood,” Louis says, looking at Zayn carefully. “Never understood why you let me have this.” His laugh sounds wet. “God, you just got on your knees for me. I never knew why I was so lucky.”

Zayn whimpers, confused but warm with what Louis is saying.

“Always so gorgeous,” Louis says, the one hand still all over Zayn’s body. Fingertips pressing into the dark ink of his tattoos, tracing every rib. Up the middle of his body, over his nipples. Louis skates over his ticklish spots, but Zayn’s so distracted it barely registers.

The hand on Zayn’s neck moves up to his jaw. Zayn’s balance tilts and shifts without the weight on his collar, but Louis’ thumb is at his bottom lip, tracing over it. Zayn lets his mouth go soft, waits for Louis to slide two fingers inside, rubbing softly over his tongue as he sucks on them.

It feels good, having Louis in his mouth. Louis watching him with that kind of disbelief on his face that Zayn doesn’t remember being there before.

When he pulls his fingers out, Zayn chases them a bit, just to see the way Louis smiles. Spit smears down his chin and Louis grabs his jaw and tugs him into a kiss. Firm, but gentle, getting rougher with each pass.

Zayn moans, feeling the sharp bite of Louis’ teeth, nails digging into Zayn’s hips as Louis holds the two of them steady. Zayn’s so dizzy he’d topple without Louis, he doesn’t know how Louis is upright.

“Fuck I missed you,” Louis says, when they part. Zayn sucks in a breath, keeps eye contact when Louis pulls back.

“Missed that mouth of yours.” Louis presses a kiss to his top lip quickly, licks at him. Zayn whimpers when he moves away again.

“Missed seeing you like this.” Louis’ hands slide down his chest to his hips, carefully avoiding his cock as he touches Zayn’ thighs. “Missed you on your knees for me.” He drags his hands up the back of Zayn’s thighs, grabs his arse softly. “Willing to do whatever for me.”

Zayn nods slowly, fighting the urge to squirm as Louis’ ringers trace lightly up his crack, teasing. He stays still, waiting for a more deliberate touch, but it doesn’t come. Louis’ hand circles both his wrists as they rest at the small of his back, bringing attention to the ache in his shoulders. He’d tuned it out so completely, but it registers again when Louis tightens his grip and tugs down, making his muscles pull.

Zayn cries out, small and needy, and Louis grins, pressing their chests together, teeth at Zayn’s jaw. The material of his shirt feels rough against Zayn’s skin, all his nerves lit up and sensitive to the touch.

The attention to his cock is completely unexpected, he flinches when Louis’ warm hand closes around him.

“Ah-ah, stay still,” Louis says, but it’s soft like he knows Zayn couldn’t help it. He pulls hard and slow on Zayn’s prick, keeps his other hand around Zayn’s wrists, and Zayn holds still, breathes evenly.

“Always so good for me,” Louis says, pressing their cheeks together. Every inhale and exhale loud in Zayn’s ear as he takes Zayn’s weight and wanks him. It’s dry, chaffing, but it feels so fucking good, keeps Zayn from floating off completely. “Perfect.”

Zayn whines as Louis bites his neck, punctuates it with another hard tug on Zayn’s wrists, another cheeky twist of his hand on Zayn’s cock.

“Feel good, love?” Louis asks, low. Zayn inhales sharply, tries to find his voice.

“Yeah,” he says, impossibly rough. Louis speeds up, and Zayn’s belly goes tight and hot immediately. “ _Louis_.”

“I want you to come,” Louis says, coaxing. “Mess us all up, c’mon.”

Zayn whimpers, belly quivering as Louis’ keeps at it, pace steady as he whispers encouragingly. And Zayn’s not one to disobey, so he comes with a cry, whole body going taunt before it immediately loosens, spine melting.

Louis tugs him through it, keeps his hand on Zayn’s cock until Zayn’s practically sobbing, then he lets go -- of his prick and his wrists -- and frames Zayn’s face to pull him in for a kiss. There’s come smearing on Zayn’s cheek, but Zayn kisses Louis back hungrily, desperate for it.

“So good, so fucking good Zayn,” Louis says, in between bruising kisses. “So good baby, that was amazing. You’re so fucking beautiful.” He pulls back enough to tug off his shirt, comes back to kiss Zayn like he can’t bear for them to part for too long.

Louis gasps as Zayn bites his bottom lip and tugs, soothing it with his tongue immediately. He can taste Louis’ smile. He doesn’t want to stop kissing him.

“Zayn, babe.” Louis voice is urgent. “Need you to touch me, baby.” Louis’ knuckles brush Zayn’s hips as he shoves down his trackies, cock bouncing free. “Please make me come, Z.”

Zayn’s hands move from the small of his back obediently, ignoring the way his arms tingle hotly from how long they were like that. He gets a hand around Louis’ cock, groaning with Louis as he thumbs over the wet head of Louis’ prick.

Louis presses his forehead against Zayn’s hard, muttering encouragement, telling Zayn how good he feels. “You’re brilliant, love. Missed you so much,” in little bits and snatches that Zayn can barely hear once Louis’ hand comes up around the base of his neck again, presses into it like a collar might.

The whole thing is so much. Louis’ cock in his hand again, Louis’ mouth on his, Louis’ sweet praise in his head. He feels so calm, so keyed up. Needs it so much, is satisfied down to his bones.

The noise Louis makes when he comes is the best noise Zayn’s ever heard in his life. Second only to the laugh Louis lets out when Zayn tackles him to the floor and smears come up his side as Zayn rolls them over, hauling Louis on top of him.

They kiss like that, giggling and giddy and impossibly high off each other, and it feels like a welcome home.

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/post/163646451117/you-cant-start-a-fire-without-a-spark)


End file.
